The Unknown Mann
by PieSpie
Summary: How did the Medic get the injuries shown in the Medic Misc Item 'The Unknown Mann? Read on and find out! rated t for language and racial slurs.


It was out of sheer luck that the Medic had gotten the weekend off. He hadn't had a drink in months, and, quite frankly, he felt he deserved one.

The local bar was perfectly empty on Friday evening, which was odd, but the Medic dismissed this and sat down at the farthest end and ordered a drink. The bartender gave him the glass without comment and sat down facing the taps, thumbing through a magazine. The Medic pulled out a small stack of papers and hummed quietly, sometimes muttering a few lyrics as he read over some sheet music. The door to the bar opened and the Medic glanced over at the man who entered. He had a build similar to the Soldier, and a voice to match as the bartender rolled up his magazine and greeted the man with a smile. Tony, as the Barkeep addressed him, sat three seats away from the Medic, a respectable distance, and ordered a drink for himself.

Not keen on picking a fight with this American, the Medic ceased his humming, but continued reading through the piece, taking small notes with a pencil here and there. Tony leaned towards the Medic to look over his shoulder, but the latter tilted his papers towards himself, and cast a quick glance at the man.

After a minute or two, the Medic was so engulfed in the music he was reading that he failed to notice Tony stand up, and was also oblivious to the man as he leaned over the Medic's shoulder to look at the papers in his hand.

"The fuck kind of language is that? Finnish?" This sudden outburst startled the Medic, who had been about to take a sip from his glass. His hand slipped and the drink fell to the table with a _thunk_, sloshing its contents all over the score, effectively ruining it. Praying for patience, the Medic spun around in his seat and stood to his full height. The other man also stretched himself to his full height, but the Medic beat him by about three inches.

"For your information," the Medic started, his voice shaking slightly. He'd spent _months _writing that piece! "The language on zhis now _ruined_ piece of music vas German-"

"German?" The other man asked. "You mean that kraut-fucking Nazi language? Don't tell me you actually _speak_ that trash?"

"As a matter of fact I do." This simple statement seemed to anger the American, so the Medic tried to explain himself. "Vhile English is only a second language to me, I have no intentions of following my country or supporting them in anysing zhat zey are doing. Zhat is ultimately vhy I am here now: To get avay from ze Germans and zeir horrible ideas."

"But you're still a Kraut-fucker ain't ya? You still speak that Nazi language don't ya? That makes you a Kraut, and that makes you trash!" Without warning, Tony swung at the Medic, connecting with the German's jaw, and making him stumble into his chair and trip backwards. He was up in an instant, however, and made to punch back, but Tony was quicker and slashed at the Medic's eye. Something glinted from Tony's raised fist and the Medic saw two blades protruding from the man's fingers. Blood began to leak from the resulting cuts that ran down either side of his left eye. The slash had also knocked the Medic's glasses off and they landed on the floor and out of sight. The Medic's lip curled in anger and he lashed out again, this time landing his blow in the dead center of Tony's face. A pop sounded from beneath the Medic's fist, and blood began to spurt from Tony's broken nose. The latter kicked the Medic's leg, causing him to buckle over and fall to the floor. Another kick was aimed at the Medic's head, and a small shard of metal that was sticking out from Tony's beat up steel-toed boots created an ugly gash on the side of the Medic's head. The German lay on the ground, trying to curl up, but any and all movement provoked a splitting headache that made the Medic moan in pain.

"Aw, come on! You can't be done already! The fun's just starting!" Tony said, as he bent down and grabbed the Medic by his hair. He took one of the knives he used to make the first two cuts around Medic's eye, and made a long, slow cut that started in front of the Medic's left ear, ran below his eye, over the bridge of his nose and ended below his right eye. The Medic hissed in pain, glaring up at the man with absolute loathing.

"Looks like you might need a haircut, huh?" Tony said, already burying the knife in the Medic's hair. He butchered the German's scalp, causing a steady flow of blood to run down his face and neck. Once Tony was satisfied with the Medic's new hairdo, he dropped the other man's head. It hit the floor with a muffled _thud_, and Tony left the bar after paying his own tab. The bartender peered over the bar at the Medic, unconscious and covered in blood and quickly dialed for an ambulance.

The Medic was taken to the hospital and bandaged up, with a thick roll of gauze wrapped tightly around his severely fractured skull, and a small patch of gauze was tied over his left eye, The ends of the vertical cuts peeked out from the edges of the eye patch, while the long horizontal one was barely covered at all. The Medic's head had been shaved to a bald fade, revealing some cuts on his scalp. He stayed in the hospital for the remainder of his weekend, and the doctors thought him senile for insisting that he was an unlicensed surgeon who knew exactly how to heal himself in a matter of seconds.

He was discharged Sunday evening, and he immediately went back to the local bar. Sure enough, there was Tony, laughing and no doubt recounting the events from the previous Friday evening to his fellow patrons. The Medic cleared his throat loudly, and the entire bar seemed to freeze over. Tony stood and strolled over to the Medic, asking loudly if he was 'ready for round two'. The Medic smiled, but before he could say anything, the barkeep pushed them apart.

"Before you come in here and start even more trouble, I managed to salvage most of that music you were working on. All but the first two pages. I mean, they're there, but you can barely see anything on 'em. And I got your glasses behind the bar, too. No worries, they're in once piece." The Bartender led the Medic to the counter and pulled out the German's music, and his glasses. Indeed, the first two pages were barely legible, stained by his own drink. The Medic thanked the bartender, and paid him twenty dollars, both for his drink and for salvaging what he could of his music. Without another word, he left the bar, casting a look of deepest loathing towards Tony. Before he could close the door, however, Tony called after him, "Yeah, that's right, you better run away you fucking kraut! Why don't you come back with some of your other crazy Nazi buddies next time, then we can have some _real_ fun!"

The Medic turned and flashed a toothy smile at Tony. "Oh, not to worry, _mein freund._ I'll make sure of it."


End file.
